evil-ensign-vining:

Mr. Sandman showing his beam. 
When he walks into the room the walls lean in to listen.
Surfed out brain waves flick back and forth, like old headlights sniffing model glue again, head like a steel trap.
Wish I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't.
I don't just want to be a footnote in someone else's happiness.